Happy Birthday Sammy
by paperstorm
Summary: Birthday porn! *throws confetti* There's really very little plot, just our boys celebrating Sam's birthday. Wincest. A hint of angst, but mostly schmoop. It takes place today - May 2, 2011 - so, ergo, in Season 6.


**Happy 28th Birthday Sam Winchester! Here, have some porn!**

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><p>Sam's having a good dream. He's lost in that place halfway between sleeping and not, so he isn't even sure exactly what the dream's about anymore – all he knows is that he's warm and happy and he kind of never wants to leave this place. Until something soft but solid hits him in the face and he's jolted awake harshly.<p>

"Wha - ?" he splutters, blindly reaching over for the knife he knows Dean keeps under the mattress.

"Whoa, it's me! Hey, Sammy, it's me!"

Sam blinks quickly a few times and his brother comes into focus, holding a pillow in one hand and grinning like an idiot.

"Dean?" he croaks, voice scratchy from sleep. "Is something wrong?"

"No. It's just time to get up."

Sam glares. "You couldn't have woken me up _nicely_? I was dreaming."

"I noticed." Dean's eyes twinkle as he nods toward Sam's lap, and Sam glances down and realizes he's at least half hard.

He scowls and grabs the pillow out of Dean's hand, slamming it down over his crotch. "Did you want something?" he asks icily, not bothering to look back up at Dean.

Dean laughs quietly and shoves Sam over a little so he can sit beside him on the bed. "Yes, grumpy-bear. We're gettin' out of here. Got us a room in town. C'mon, get your ass dressed."

"We – what?" The sleep fog in Sam's brain still hasn't cleared yet and he has no idea what Dean's talking about.

"Dude, we've been mooching off Bobby for weeks. Don't you wanna sleep in a bed that doesn't smell like old man?"

"It smells fine," Sam argues, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, well. I sorta kinda _maybe_ have something planned for today and I definitely don't wanna do it here." Dean leans over and kisses Sam's hair, and Sam just blinks in even more confusion.

"Something – why?"

Dean just looks at him like he's stupid. "Uh, because it's your birthday?"

Sam stares. "It … it is? What's the …" He does a quick count in his head and yep, May 2nd. "Oh shit, it is! I totally forgot."

Dean shakes his head and chuckles fondly. "Well it's a good thing you got me, then. Now get your lazy ass up! Bobby's making breakfast and then we're hittin' the road."

The meal Bobby whips up isn't exactly gourmet, but seeing as their breakfast usually consists of coffee laced with black label, the scrambled eggs and something vaguely resembling pancakes Bobby manages not to burn aren't half bad. Sam eats too much and thanks the older man with a big hug, ignoring Dean as he wolf-whistles. When they break apart, Bobby leans over and smacks Dean upside the head, and Sam laughs loudly all the way out the door. Dean grumbles about it but he glances over when he thinks Sam isn't looking and smiles softly, like it makes him happy to hear Sam laugh. Sam stomach does a funny little flutter, but he pretends not to notice. The rumble of the impala under his feet feels a lot like freedom after being cooped up in the house for so long, and Sam finds himself suddenly really looking forward to getting away from Singer Salvage. He loves Bobby, he really does, but Dean's right – they've been there for too long this time. It's not like he doesn't appreciate all the help Bobby's given them but Sam is always happier when it's just him, Dean and the open road. Also, when they're alone Sam can let his hand wander over to Dean's side of the seat and rest against his thigh, and Dean just grins to himself and doesn't push it away.

"So where're we going?" Sam asks, rubbing his thumb gently along the rough denim seam of Dean's pants.

"Nowhere special," Dean answers, shifting a little on the bench seat and staring hard out the front window. "Just thought we should get outta Bobby's hair for a while. Spend some time just you and me, you know? At least until Cas can find Crowley."

"Yeah." Sam blows out a slow breath; a little overwhelmed at how crazy everything got in the last few days. "What the hell are we gonna do? I mean – everything's just …"

"I know." Dean reaches over and squeezes Sam's shoulder. "But none of that today. We're just grasping straws till we hear from Cas anyway, so lets just celebrate your birthday, okay?"

Sam smiles and nods. "Okay. So, spill. You're driving _somewhere_. Where are we going?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine. I, uh, okay well first I got us a room at the Best Western in town. It's not, like, a Hilton or anything but it'll be nicer than our usual digs. And Bobby hooked me up with tickets to a Sioux Falls Stampede game. Until then we can do whatever you want."

Dean shrugs sheepishly and shoots a lightening quick glance over at Sam before focusing back out the windshield.

"Sioux Falls Stampede?" Sam repeats, eyebrows scrunching a little as he tries to remember why that sounds familiar. "That's … hockey?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I know you're a football man but it's May so …" Dean shrugs again. "Hockey's kinda our only option. Hope you like toothless Canadians on skates."

Sam laughs. "I'm not picky. That sounds great."

The hotel room is pretty average; a relatively comfortable bed, desk, two chairs – the basics. But it's clean and bright and it's on the top floor so there's a decent view of the city. Sam has a feeling it's gonna be nice at night. Maybe if it's warm enough later they can share a beer on the balcony or something. Dean makes a point of refusing to let Sam do any of the work; checking them in and unloading their bags and insisting Sam just sits on the bed and doesn't lift a finger, but he's kind of avoiding Sam's gaze and if Sam didn't know any better he would guess that Dean was _nervous_ about something. Which can't be what's going on – Dean doesn't _get_ nervous. He dives into absolutely everything head first; he doesn't think about things, he just does them. The only thing he ever worries about is … Sam. Oh.

"Dean?" Sam asks quietly. Dean looks up but he doesn't answer. "Is everything okay?"

A flash of something unrecognizable crosses Dean's face for about a quarter of a second, but then he's forcing his features into a smile and nodding.

"Yeah, everything's great," he promises. "Can I give you your present now?"

Sam blinks. "You – you didn't have to get me anything."

"'Course I did, it's your birthday."

"We haven't given each other birthday presents in years," Sam points out. He can't remember the last time they did. Honestly, he can't even remember the last time they _acknowledged _either of their birthdays. They always seem to be doing something more important. Hell, a week had passed after Dean's birthday in January before either of them even remembered it had come and gone.

"Yeah, well." Dean shrugs noncommittally and starts digging through his bag. "I saw this a few weeks ago, made me think of you, so." He pulls out a rectangular shaped package and hands it to Sam. It's wrapped in newspaper and there's a slightly squished red bow on the top.

Sam shakes his head a little in disbelief as he starts a tear in the oily paper and pushes it to the floor. It's a book of some kind, a pale green hardcover with fraying edges like it was well loved by a previous owner, but Sam has to turn it over before he can see the title. When he does, it takes his breath away. It's an old – _really _old – illustrated copy of the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Sam looks up, wide-eyed, and finds Dean staring at the ground and fiddling with his hands.

"This – Dean …" Sam's kind of speechless.

"It's a first edition," Dean says quietly. "Apparently that's a good thing even though it looks all old and shit. I found it in a second-hand bookstore last month. I thought … I thought you'd like it."

Sam's jaw is probably scraping the flowery carpet but he can't seem to pull himself together enough to form words. Dean huffs and drops down to the mattress beside him.

"Close your mouth, you look like a fish," he jokes, poking Sam in the ribs.

Sam laughs shakily and runs tentative fingers over the book in his hands. "I don't know what to say. This … this was my favorite book when I was a kid."

"I remember."

Sam opens it and flips through a few fragile pages. "I always wanted to be Huck. He … he had all these great adventures and he didn't listen to what his dad wanted him to do."

Dean leans in a little and throws an arm over Sam's shoulders. "And I've told you a million times, you're Tom. You're the smart, respectable one. _I'm_ Huck, you're the sidekick. "

Sam laughs again and slouches against Dean's body. "I … this is amazing, Dean. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Dean kisses the top of Sam's head and pulls him in a little closer. "Happy birthday."

Sam puts the book down beside him on the bed, and leans in more so he can press a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. Dean kisses back, lips sliding softly against Sam's for a few minutes before he hums and licks at the seam of Sam's lips. Sam opens his mouth and lets Dean in; his warm and slick tongue rubbing against Sam's and filling Sam's senses with _Dean_.

"You taste like maple syrup," Dean slurs, licking along Sam's teeth and sucking on his bottom lip.

Sam smiles. "You taste like Dean."

"What does Dean taste like?" Dean asks, pushing Sam's shirt up a little so he can run his fingers over Sam's hips.

"Dunno. Just tastes good," Sam answers, smiling more and sliding his lips along Dean's stubbled jaw. He loves it when Dean forgets to shave; it's like sandpaper against his lips and it leaves them tingling.

"Mm," Dean hums. "So, you want part two of your present?"

Sam pulls back. "There's a part two?"

Dean reaches down to where the discarded paper is crumpled on the floor. He picks up the red, plastic bow and then smacks it onto his own forehead.

"Me," he says, cocky smile not quite masking the look of soft hopefulness in his eyes. "However you want me."

Sam barks a laugh and grabs the front of Dean's shirt; crashing their lips together forcefully as the bow tumbles back to the floor. "Don't want you any special way," he mumbles into Dean's half-open mouth. "Just want you."

"I can get on board with that." Dean strips Sam's shirt off and tosses it recklessly over his shoulder, and then starts on Sam's belt. He gets Sam's jeans undone, brushing his fingers over Sam's hard length through his boxers and Sam hisses at the contact. Dean manages to stand up while not detaching his frantic lips from Sam's, and pushes Sam backwards up the bed in a sort of crab-walk that's awkward but gets them horizontal. He pulls Sam's pants off with one strong tug and Sam finds himself completely naked when he's pretty sure he was fully clothed mere seconds ago. Dean makes a little more of a show of getting his own clothes off; pulling his shirt off slowly so Sam gets to watch the nice stretch of Dean's abs.

Sam loves any chance to stared unabashedly at Dean's gorgeous body, but right now he just _needs_. There'll be time for all that other stuff later.

"_C'mon_," he pleads, tossing his head impatiently. "Need you, Dean. Right now."

Dean huffs good-naturedly. "Pushy," he mutters, but he kicks his jeans off all the same and crawls back onto the bed, kissing and nipping at the inside of Sam's thigh as he goes. "Fine, but we're doin' this again later and I'm gonna fuckin' _ravish_ you. You're gettin' more than just a quickie on your birthday. I'm gonna lick every inch of you and you're going to _let_ me, we clear?"

Sam gulps and swallows over a giant lump in his throat. "Yeah," he breathes. "Sounds good."

"Damn straight." Dean noses at Sam's hipbone.

Sam reaches out for him, thinking Dean's gonna come all the way up the bed and kiss him again, but Dean unexpectedly drops down and starts licking at the head of Sam's cock. Sam gasps and lets his head fall back between his shoulder blades. Dean's tongue swirls around his crown, leaving a trail of hot and then cold as the air cools his spit. Sam exhales shakily and manages to lift his head enough to watch Dean through heavy lidded eyes. Dean concentrates when he's blowing Sam like it's the most important thing in the world, and to him it probably is. Taking care of Sammy. Sam smiles at that thought and then moans as Dean hollows his cheeks and sucks hard, sinfully perfect lips wrapped tight around Sam's length and tongue laving delicious patterns over the vein on the underside.

"_Shit_, Dean," Sam moans, reaching one hand down to pet through Dean's soft, dark spikes. He's been spending a lot of time outside lately, and the weak spring sun is starting to tinge the tips of his hair blonde like it does in the summer. Sam loves it. Reminds him of sun-soaked summers spent by unkempt motel pools when Dean's hair would turn almost golden and his face would freckle so badly he'd look tanned. Summers are some of the only actually _happy_ memories Sam has of childhood. They still moved around like crazy but he wasn't getting pulled out of school for it so he didn't mind so much. When they were little, they'd go swimming in the nearest creek to escape the heat, and by the time Sam was sixteen they'd found a much better use for sticky, un-airconditioned motel rooms. Sam has very fond memories of a teenage Dean walking around without a shirt on, sweat running in rivulets down his toned back. And Dean's green eyes never sparkle as much as they do in sunshine.

Dean pulls off Sam's dick with a wet pop and moves lower, jarring Sam from his memories and planting him back in the present where Dean's sucking at his sac and pressing lubed fingers into his hole. Sam groans loudly as Dean works a finger in, collapsing off his elbows and onto the bouncy mattress. Dean works him open quickly, and Sam rocks down on it; not letting Dean take too long between fingers. Sam _likes_ the stretch and the burn and right now he wants to _feel_ it. He wants to feel it so much that he'll be uncomfortable in the cramped arena seats at the game later – every time he shifts his weight he wants that ache there, reminding him how good Dean feels filling him up. Dean's fingers twist and scissor and Sam pants and arches right off the bed. _Fuck_, that feels good.

"M'ready," he mutters, chest tightening painfully with how badly he needs Dean inside him right now. "More."

Dean chuckles and licks a slow stripe over Sam's loose hole, and Sam honest-to-god almost loses it. Then Dean's pushing his slicked up cock into Sam, slowly but steadily, and for the minute it takes him to get all the way in Sam forgets how to breathe. His lungs burn at the loss and he feels dizzy but he's too concentrated on other things to care; on the hurricane of pleasure invading every sense. It's intense as always, overloading all his synapses with too much icy hot sensation and shutting his brain down with how perfect it feels. It doesn't matter how long they've been doing this or how many times, every time with Dean is like it's brand new all over again.

"Sam, breathe."

Sam feels the puff of breath on his face more than he hears the words, and he opens his eyes to find Dean hovering over him, propped up on one elbow so he can stroke his thumb soothingly over Sam's twisted forehead.

"C'mon, you gotta breathe or you're gonna pass out," Dean says again, concern etched all over his beautiful face. "Am I hurting you?"

Sam takes a deep, steadying breath. "No, _god_ no. Feels good."

Dean eyes him wearily but Sam can tell his brother is shaking with the effort of not moving, so he reaches up and pulls Dean down enough to lock their lips together in a messy kiss. He starts rocking again and Dean gets the message, pulling out almost all the way and slamming back in. Sam cries out but doesn't release his grip on Dean's shoulders, keeping their mouths mashed together as Dean thrusts into him, hitting his prostate over and over until Sam's quivering and panting and holy shit he can't even remember the last time he was close to the edge so quickly. The heavy ridge of Dean's cock rubs back and forth inside him, and the friction is maddening on Sam's own erection; trapped in the middle of their sweat-sticky stomachs.

"So fuckin' hot like this," Dean rasps.

"Har-harder," Sam chokes out and Dean complies happily, pounding into Sam's ass so forcefully that Sam's coming like a bullet after only a few more thrusts.

"Dean …" he whimpers, nails digging in to Dean's shoulders as Sam empties himself between their bodies. Dean comes a minute later, growling into Sam's ear and pulsing, filling Sam up from the inside out. He falls down onto Sam's heaving chest and presses his face into Sam's neck.

Sam comes down slowly, running his fingers absently up and down Dean's back as his heart rate returns to normal and the little spasmy aftershocks of pleasure gradually die out. Eventually Dean shifts his hips enough to the side that his soft dick slips out, but he stays wrapped around Sam's sweaty body and even though there's come dribbling out of his ass and a sticky mess on his abdomen, Sam wouldn't dream of moving. Dean's warm and lax beside him; chest still mostly on top of Sam's and head pillowed on Sam's shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Sammy," he whispers again, breath muggy on Sam's collarbone.

Sam hums happily and noses through the hair on the top of Dean's head. "I'm not sure which present I liked better," he muses.

Dean snorts and smacks his arm. "Asshole."

Sam laughs deeply and pulls Dean in just an inch closer. They lie like that for a while, Sam smoothing his hand up and down Dean's back and Dean's thumb rubbing over the tattoo on Sam's chest. It's comfortable and hazy and Sam could definitely fall asleep like this, but then Dean speaks; his voice small and a little sad.

"You wanna know what I was thinking about before?"

"When?"

"When we first got here," Dean clarifies. "When you asked me if everything was okay."

"Oh." Sam frowns. "Uh, okay. Tell me."

"I was thinking about what I did last year on your birthday," Dean says, closing his eyes and tilting his head up a little so his face is hidden in Sam's neck.

_Oh. _Sam's chest clenches. "What did you do?" he asks quietly, knowing that whatever it is he probably isn't going to like the answer. He hates thinking about Dean all alone for so long. Yeah, he had Lisa and Ben but Sam knows it wasn't the same. Even more, Sam hates the fact that he was _alive_ for all that time and he let Dean go on thinking he was in hell. Sam doesn't remember it – he can't do anything about it now – but it breaks his heart a little bit to think of how much pain he could have saved his brother.

"I took the impala out," Dean says after a long moment. "I hadn't in a while, I … after I got to Lisa's, I didn't really leave the house for like a week. I was pretty messed up, you know? But then she said I should try to get out, that it would make me feel better, so I … I was just going to go get groceries or something, but when I got to the car … I couldn't. I couldn't get in."

Sam's frown deepens and he holds Dean a bit tighter.

"I stood there for like twenty minutes, just staring at it," Dean continues sadly. "I couldn't get in, I couldn't even open the door. Cause I knew if I did, you wouldn't be there in the passenger's seat lookin' back at me. So we – Lisa moved it into the garage and covered it up with a tarp and I went out to a used car lot the next day and bought the truck. I hardly ever looked at the impala again, I didn't even go near it if I could help it. But then, on your birthday I … I took it out. I don't even remember where I went exactly, I think I just drove around for a few hours. But I couldn't look over at your side. It was like … I don't know, if I didn't _look_, if I didn't see the empty seat, then I could pretend you were there with me."

Sam sighs and blinks a few times rapidly as his eyes start to sting. "I'm … god, I'm so sorry."

Dean shrugs the shoulder that's not trapped under Sam's arm. "Not your fault."

"I know." Sam bends his neck awkwardly down and kisses Dean's forehead. "Still sorry you had to go through that."

"No, I – shit, _I'm_ sorry," Dean mutters, pulling away. "It's your birthday, we shouldn't … we should be doing what _you_ want to do. I'm being a downer. M'sorry."

"You're not. Hey," Sam cups Dean's cheek in his hand. "You aren't. This is what I want, okay?"

"What? Us lying here and whining about crap in the past that we can't change?" Dean scoffs.

Sam laughs a little. "_No_. Just … the first part. Us lying here. Just for a while. Please?"

Dean rolls his eyes but he snuggles back in. "Yeah, alright. Homo."

Sam laughs again, louder this time, and wraps his arms back around Dean. "Whatever. I _love_ you, you big jerk."

"I know," Dean whispers, thumb resuming it's petting over Sam's tattoo.

"Don't ever let me go again, okay?" Sam asks, inhaling a lungful of Dean-scented air. "I don't wanna spend another birthday without you."

"I won't," Dean answers, and Sam leans down and seals the promise with a kiss.


End file.
